


happily ever after

by elliptical



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aging, Anniversary, M/M, Memories, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dave touches john with liver-spotted hands weakened by arthritis and they have a happy fiftieth anniversary.<br/>a happy last anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	happily ever after

**Author's Note:**

> i was originally just going to post it to tumblr but i actually like it so i expanded a little and here it is  
> for added emotions listen to this while reading: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOJ91H4mraU

“Hey.”

John smiles at you. The laugh lines around his eyes crease and the papery folds in his skin move as he reaches up to take your hand. You climb into the bed next to him, stroking white hair back from his face. Your hands are dry and spotted and your back aches like a bitch whenever it rains, but you’re still having trouble believing how old you are. Time crept up on you slowly. Moved past you like a river, or maybe more like a stream, gently carrying you along. Time’s been good to you. Hasn’t given you much to hate.

“Hey, Dave,” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

His breath rattles in and out of his chest; it sounds like the wind that whistles around the corners of the house in the middle of a storm. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it. You’d prefer to assume he isn’t and move on, since he’s been getting irritated more and more recently when you ask.

_yes, dave, i am in pain. no, you can’t help out. this is what happens when people get old. they die. it’s okay._

_can you lie down next to me?_

“Happy fiftieth anniversary,” you say, and you are pressed against a man you’ve seen thirteen and twenty-five and forty, whose life has been your life, whose pain has been your pain. You are still hopelessly in love even after all this time and would still snatch eternity out of the sky if you could, despite fifty peaceful married years being a hell of a lot more than most people can ask for.

“Is it…?” He turns to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Oh hey, it’s past midnight. Who says old guys can’t stay up late.”

You help him sit up, his back supported against a wall of pillows. He’s thin enough now that it’s easy to do. When you lean forward to pick up the box you just dropped at the foot of the bed, he makes a snarky comment about how you’ll have to be careful or your spine will just snap in two, and then another snarky comment about wow, Dave, you really shouldn’t be flipping me the bird when your arthritis has been acting up.

“Anniversary gift,” you say. “Shut the hell up and appreciate it.”

“I didn’t get you anything…”

“You’re still alive.”

“It’s pretty sad that that’s a gift, huh?”

He has trouble getting the package open and you help him out when you notice he’s wincing. When the folds of cardboard peel back and he pulls away the wrapping, his breath catches.

“Dave.”

“It’s the actual bunny from that actual piece of shit movie.”

“I thought we lost this in a fire.”

“I fixed it.”

Restoration means it’s only fifty percent or less the original rabbit, but the fact remains that it is still the bunny that the late Nic Cage put his weird gross hands all over. It is still the bunny that you gave to John on his thirteenth birthday, a full life and time tunnel ago.

He pulls it out of the box. It’s really nothing but a raggedy scrappy stuffed animal, but some big extravagant expensive gift wouldn’t matter much when you both know he doesn’t have much time to enjoy it. When he turns to look at you, there are tears in his eyes. They tremble on his lower lashes before spilling over. You put your head on his shoulder, pressing a kiss against his neck.

“I love you so much, Dave.”

“I love you too.”

“I think it’s going to be soon.”

“Okay.”

“I think it might be today.”

“Okay.” Your heart is breaking, but you just press another kiss against his skin. ”Is there anything you need?”

“No. I already said my goodbyes to Casey and the grandkids.” Another slow, rattling breath that you can almost feel in your own chest. ”I just want you here.”

“Man, I guess I have to cancel my reservation for one on that cruise ship, then.” You roll your eyes. ”Of course I’m staying here. Right up to your last breath.”

“I’m glad I get to die first.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ll be okay.” John’s arms wrap around you. ”It’s okay. I’m not afraid.”

“At least we won’t be separated for long.”

“More than half a century still wasn’t enough time.”

“There’s never enough time.”

You help him lie down again, pressing a kiss against his mouth. His hands are frail and shaky as they cup your cheeks, trace the bridge of your nose, memorize your skin for likely the last time. You keep yourself grounded in the present, in this moment where he is still alive and you are not nearing the end of the single most important relationship you’ve ever had.

“Do you regret anything?” you ask.

His answer is immediate. ”No. God no. Do you?”

“No.”

The rabbit presses between you two, all faded stained brown ears and barely-stitched stuffing. You know it’s clean, though. And you can remember being thirteen and you know he feels it too, this almost crippling nostalgia, the boys you were forever ago spilling through the cracked lines of your aging bodies.

“It was around then that I realized I loved you,” he whispers, following your train of thought.

“It was around then that I realized you would be cursed with shitty movie taste forever.”

He lets out a wheezing laugh.

“Oh yeah, and also that I loved you. I guess.”

"God, do you remember the first time my dad caught us making out?" He coughs another quiet laugh, and you can actually feel him fading, you can feel death in the room with the pair of you. You hope it'll be easy for him. Just like an endless really awesome and deep sleep. Or maybe he'll come back to watch over you; you still don't know whether or not you believe in ghosts.

"Fuck that, remember when we told my bro?"

"'If you two are going to tie each other up, be safe about it,'" he quotes. "What about getting married?"

"'Course I remember that."

"You were scared."

"Was not."

"Were so."

"Maybe a little."

"There was nothing to be scared of."

You kiss his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, your throat closing off. "I didn't think you could love me like I loved you. Not forever."

"Look at us now."

"Yeah, you get to die in my arms. How romantic."

"I still love you as much as I did when we were twelve and you were a moron," he says, coughing again. "Nothing I did would be the same if you hadn't been here with me."

"Nothing I did would've meant anything."

"You're so warm, Dave."

"You're shivering."

His eyes close. ”I’m tired.”

“Maybe you should sleep. We did, after all, stay up a little past our seven o’clock old man bedtime.”

“It’s a different tired from usual.”

Your chest opens and aches.

“I might not wake up, Dave.”

“You’re not scared?”

“No, not really. But that doesn’t mean I want to leave you.”

“I’m right here. Shh, I’m right here.” The sting is eased by the memories you still hang onto. If there’s one thing that hasn’t deteriorated over the crumbling years, it’s your mind. Thank God for that.

Your kiss tastes like goodbye and the salt of his tears. At least your eyes are dry. You’re saving the sobs for when he’s not awake to do ludicrous things like feel guilty for shit he can’t control.

“Happy anniversary, Dave.”

“Good night, John.”


End file.
